


Three-Way Communications

by Dawn_Blossom



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Radio, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-08 06:43:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21231488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dawn_Blossom/pseuds/Dawn_Blossom
Summary: What kind of people tune into Hubert’s 1:00 to 5:00 a.m. radio show on Slither FM? A man named Ferdinand who argues with him about everything and a woman named Bernadetta who only communicates via letters.





	Three-Way Communications

**Author's Note:**

> hhhHHHHH OT3!!! OT3!!! OT3!!!
> 
> Fair warning, I know absolutely nothing about how radio actually works. I watched one (1) episode of Sabrina the Teenage Witch that featured a radio talk show, suddenly remembered that radio aus are a Thing and I enjoy them, and immediately went on to write this without any further inquiry
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy the fic! Please love hubernadettinand!

Hubert had not gotten his communications degree with the intention of ever taking up radio broadcasting as a hobby. He had gotten it, rather, because he had sworn since childhood that he would do whatever it might take to see his friend Edelgard’s goals through to the end. But to change society, the people living in it must be… persuaded. There are many methods of persuasion. Speaking is among them.

And that is why he had started a radio show. To spread Edelgard’s ideals to the world.

Of course, it would be more effective were they not broadcasting during the 1:00 a.m. to 5:00 a.m. slot on Slither FM, Fodlan’s premiere station for _crackpot conspiracy theories._

“I don’t like it either, Hubert,” Edelgard had told him. “But my uncle _is_ letting us access far more resources than we could otherwise afford. And at least these people are… _accepting_ of challenges to the status quo.”

Hubert would never dare to complain to her. As part of the deal, her uncle is forcing her to host a show in the afternoon in which she plays the role of the “Flame Emperor.” Every word is scripted by Slither FM. 

Hubert, at least, has creative control over his show. In part, anyway. He is contractually bound to play two and a half hours of the blend of odd indie music that Slither FM claims as its specialty. That leaves an hour and a half for whatever Hubert wants to say.

In the beginning, he largely kept to scripted speeches, carefully designed to explain Edelgard’s ideals without boring the listeners. Now, however, he has a regular audience, and he has long moved past introductory material. These days, he focuses more on genuine discussion.

He is aided in this matter by the regular contributions of two listeners in particular.

The first is a man named Ferdinand von Aegir (as he insists on announcing every time his calls come through). In his first call, he vehemently disputed everything Hubert said with the most simplistic, naive arguments possible. But over time, his reasoning skills had improved, and Hubert is unashamed to admit that some of his points have been worth considering. It is a valuable effort, for his own position only grows stronger each time he has to readapt.

The second is a woman named Bernadetta. She communicates only through letters. Handwritten ones, at that. Her handwriting is normally quite legible, but every now and then her words will deteriorate into the shaky scratches of someone frantically scrawling their pen across the page. 

Though Hubert has never heard Bernadetta’s voice, her letters convey so much of her spirit that he cannot help but feel that he knows her personally, far deeper than a mere radio show host ought to. It is the same with Ferdinand; he is coming dangerously close to feeling a bond of friendship with a man he’s only inadvertently gotten to know over the course of their debates.

It is unprofessional, and Hubert works hard to keep his emotions in check. It would not do to compromise his goals, to compromise Edelgard’s plans, for the sake of a couple of people who happen to listen to his program.

Bernadetta and Ferdinand make it terribly difficult for him, though.

“You’re on the air.”

“Hello! This is Ferdinand von Aegir! I’m calling to—”

“I know why you’re calling, Ferdinand,” Hubert drawls. Ferdinand always begins with a standard introduction. It is no doubt useful when calling strangers, but Hubert would rather not waste three minutes of his show’s precious time letting him unleash his entire spiel.

“Hubert, I was unaware you had taken up divination!” Ferdinand exclaims. “For how else could you possibly know what I am calling you to say?”

Hubert scoffs, amused despite his best efforts not to be.

“Sarcasm at this hour? Don’t tell me that law school is finally starting to pollute your pure heart.”

“Never!” Ferdinand insists. “If anything, it is _your_ devious influence showing itself on me.”

“Spare me the compliments,” Hubert says. Despite his sarcasm, his face still heats. It is foolish. The entire point of this program is to influence people. And yet, the way Ferdinand said it has made him feel...

It has made him feel things he has no business feeling at the moment.

“I will relent this time,” Ferdinand says. “You might be surprised, but for once I did not call in to argue with you!”

“I can scarcely believe my ears,” Hubert says.

“You are trying to bait me, but I am not going to fall for it,” Ferdinand says. “Tell me, did you get the letter Bernadetta sent in?”

“I did,” Hubert says, looking down at the envelope on his desk. “I have not opened it yet. Should I read it now?”

“Not on the air,” Ferdinand says. “Read it to yourself, and simply… tell us your response.”

“‘Us?’ Did you write it together?” Hubert asks. Now that he thinks about it, the address is written in a script unfamiliar to him...

“I told you we knew each other as children, did I not?” Ferdinand asks. “We reconnected thanks to you, you know! Last week we met up for the first time in years. I’m afraid she shares your predilection for coffee over tea, but… Oh! Bernadetta, do not worry about it! Most coffee shops also serve tea!”

“Impeccable taste, Bernadetta,” Hubert says, letting out a small chuckle. After a moment’s pause, he continues. “Very well, I shall read the letter and give you my reply.”

“Thank you, Hubert,” Ferdinand says. “It… need not be an immediate answer.”

With that cryptic remark, he ends the call.

“... That said,” Hubert presses a few buttons. “For the… ah, yes, _third_ time in two hours, here is Kronya’s _Shambhala._’”

As the electronic beats assault his audience’s ears, Hubert turns his attention to the letter he has been sent. Noting again the new handwriting on the outside of the envelope (if it is indeed Ferdinand’s, it is neater than he would have expected from such an energetic man), he carefully removes the contents.

_Dear Hubert,_

_This is the sixth draft of this letter that I am writing, and I think Ferdinand is going to have a breakdown if I waste another sheet of paper, so please forgive any mistakes that may appear on this one._

_It’s hard to know where to begin, but I decided two drafts ago that I should just start by thanking you. I used to spend all day inside my room. Since I’d sometimes go for days without talking to anyone, your voice was often the only thing keeping me company. And it wasn’t like putting on some TV show in the background. You actually responded to the things I wrote you! You talked **to** me! Even though the first thing I ever said to you was that you sounded like an evil villain when you laughed. (I’m so sorry about that! If you have any doubt, know that my opinion has definitely changed! I don’t know what I was thinking back then; you’re nothing like a villain!) _

_It was so surprising when Ferdinand started calling in to your show all the time. What are the odds that someone I actually knew would listen to the same graveyard shift radio show as me? And you know how forward he is; he contacted me as soon as he realized that the Bernadetta who kept writing in was, well, me. We’ve been talking for months leading up to our meeting today. Did you know that **he** used to be afraid of **me** when we were kids? He thought the dolls I used to make were cursed dolls! And I suppose the poisonous plants I was growing in my garden didn’t help, either. It’s kind of funny how totally benign things can become so terrifying when you misunderstand them._

_Yes, I’m talking about myself more than him there._

_Anyway, it’s thanks to you that I started talking to Ferdinand again, and that I’m even outside today. Ferdinand and I would probably never seen each other again if we hadn’t started talking to you. And so, it’s weird to say this, but_

_ <strike>But it’s wrong without you</strike> _

_We both really want to meet you. I don’t know if that’s allowed. I’m sure there are privacy concerns and everything. I feel like we’re sort of friends, though. I may not be able to look at a picture and point you out, but I know I would recognize your voice anywhere. We’re not exactly strangers, are we? So it wouldn’t be weird for us to meet._

_Or maybe it would be weird? Maybe there are things you say on the radio at 3 a.m. that you don’t say in real life. What happens on Slither FM stays on Slither FM? Is that what it’s like? I don’t want to pressure you._

_I don’t want to pressure you, but I would really like to see your face. And you’ve never seen mine or Ferdinand’s either. It’s only natural to wonder what someone you talk to all the time looks like. Maybe we could get together once, just to satisfy everyone’s curiosity?_

_Ferdinand and I are planning to meet at the Enbarr gardens on the last day of the month. I don’t know if you’d be interested in that. You sounded like you were interested in plants when I wrote to you about nightshade, but I don’t know. Maybe it was a one-time thing. Of course you don’t have to join us. But if you wanted to, well, we would like it if you joined us. _

_Sincerely,_

_Bernadetta von Varley_

Hubert sits in contemplation as the beats of _Shambhala_ begin to fade away. To think he’d be sent an invitation, of all things. A casual social invitation. It is certainly not something that Hubert is used to receiving.

“Ahem… Again, that was _Shambhala._ I am legally obligated to remind you all that you may buy a physical or digital copy of Kronya’s latest album from the Slither FM website. Perhaps if you do so, I will be allowed to play other music during the show… Or perhaps I will simply be required to play more Kronya. Who can say? We are all victims of corporate greed.”

He pauses, just to see if anyone else calls in. The line is silent.

Good.

“Bernadetta, Ferdinand, I’ve read your letter," he says. “I did not need to ponder my response for long. My sentiments are… similar to yours. I agree to your request.”

His heart thrums in his chest. This occasion is momentous. Technically, it is his greatest opportunity yet to secure their support for Edelgard’s cause. If they are truly his friends, they may well offer aid themselves.

But that is not what is truly causing his pulse to quicken.

“I might warn you that many have told me I am frightening,” he continues. “My aura cries ‘murder!’ it has been said. Bernadetta, you might faint away at the sight of me… Nevertheless, I shall allow you to see for yourselves.”

He falls into silence. Hubert does not have anything more to say. He had planned to speak against the Church of Seiros today, but he is no longer in the mood. Besides, it will be just as corrupt tomorrow.

“Now that we have concluded today’s discussion, I have some… ‘interesting’ news. It seems that Nemesis has finally released a new song… Heh, and here I thought he was ancient history. Ah, but I suppose the idea is that I should play it for you. Very well… Here is _God-Shattering Star._”

* * *

The Enbarr Gardens are beautiful this time of year. In Hubert’s youth, he and Edelgard had stolen away here for brief moments of repose.

That was quite some time ago, though.

Now, those memories merely fill him with a pleasant sort of nostalgia as he approaches the entrance. Beside it stand two figures. Any doubts Hubert may have had as to their identities are quickly pushed aside.

“What can you tell me about this one, Bernadetta?” an orange-haired man asks loudly in a voice Hubert knows well. Pointing to a tree next to him, he gives his purple-haired companion a pointed look.

“This one?” Bernadetta shakes her head. “That’s just an oak tree. There’s nothing special about it. It’s… We’re not even inside the garden yet! Ferdinand, these aren’t the plants I was talking about!”

“How does one tell the difference between oak and poison oak?” Ferdinand asks.

“Um, well there’s a few differences, and…” Bernadetta glances to her side. Catching sight of Hubert, she stiffens.

“Greetings,” Hubert says, chuckling.

Bernadetta lets out a shriek, clasping her hands to her mouth. Beside her, Ferdinand perks up.

“Hubert!” He exclaims. “Is it truly you?”

“In the flesh,” Hubert drawls.

“Wow, um…” Bernadetta chuckles nervously. “I didn’t think you’d actually look… like that…”

“Expecting pastels, were you?” Hubert asks. “Yes, I suppose that would have been far more frightening to see on someone with my visage.”

Bernadetta laughs again, the corner of her lips turning up this time. 

“Um, s-so I actually brought you something…” she says. “I thought it might help you project less of a threatening aura… You don’t have to take it if you don’t want it, um…”

“Bernadetta, you have to take it out first,” Ferdinand says encouragingly.

“Oh! Right!” Reaching into the center pocket of her hoodie, she pulls out a small piece of embroidery. “It’s…”

“A flower…” Hubert says. His throat feels tight. A handmade token, for him? 

“Oh no, you hate it,” Bernadetta says. “I’m sorry for bringing something so stupid. Bernie, nobody cares about your weird crafts! I can just throw it aw—”

Hubert catches her wrist with his hand before she actually has a chance to fling it away from her.

“It is beautiful. I am touched by your efforts,” he says. “Are you sure you want to give it to _me?_ It is a gift perhaps better suited for someone whose affections you are seeking.”

“I… Um… That is…” Bernadetta flushes, still within Hubert’s grip. “Ferdinand, HELP me!”

“Would you be opposed to us courting you?” Ferdinand asks. “Bernadetta and I have been dating for a month now. But we cannot help desiring your company as well.”

“I see…” Hubert chuckles. “So you hoped this would be our first date.”

“I wasn’t trying to be creepy I swear!” Bernadetta shouts. “I— We— We just thought we’d ask!”

“I—” Hubert begins.

“I’ll never write to your show again if you don’t want me to!”

“I—”

“I should have been clearer about this in the letter.”

“I—”

“Or if you only like Ferdinand, it’s okay. I can—”

“Bernadetta!” Ferdinand interrupts. “Hubert has not told us his answer yet!”

“Indeed,” Hubert says. “You need not presume my rejection. On the contrary, I am not at all opposed. The two of you have held my attention for quite some time. It is such a rare feat that I would be a fool not to consider the possibility of… further development.”

“Really?” Bernadetta asks hopefully.

“Wonderful!” Ferdinand claps his hands together. “I knew you would not be able to resist our combined charms!”

“Oh?” Hubert smiles thinly. “But was it not Bernadetta who did most of the work? The embroidering, the writing…”

“... _Technically_ speaking, I—” Ferdinand pauses. “Ah! You are baiting me as usual! Proof that our relationship, though changed, has not devolved into something awkward!”

Hubert resists the childish urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he takes the embroidered flower from Bernadetta and affixes it to his clothing.

“Well?” he asks. “Do I appear less terrifying this way?”

Bernadetta smiles.

“You know what, you do!” she says. “Not that you’ve become a ball of sunshine or anything… Um, but if you were, you’d just be copying Ferdinand, so that would actually be weird.”

“The bright color stands out distinctly against your otherwise subdued look. It suits you!” Ferdinand says very sunnily, indeed.

Hubert raises a hand to his face, averting his gaze lest he appear too inappropriately sentimental about the whole thing.

“How fortunate,” he says.

Hubert had started his radio show to change the world. And yet somehow, it is his own life that has changed the most.

He does not regret anything he has done.


End file.
